June 11, 2014

This week, Leila and I discussed the practical aspects of establishing a place of prayer in your home. The idea of intentionally setting aside a permanent place to pray at ome isn't exclusively a Catholic one, unless of course we use the word "catholic" to mean universal. For it is, indeed, universal to need to get away from time to time and to be in a place apart in order to focus and to pray. We talk about the nuts and bolts here. We also discuss involving children in the care of the little oratory--and how that leads all of us to care more lovingly for the rest of our homes.

There is no picture link today. Leila has a place now at her blog for each of us to share a link to oratory pictures. I really think the more visuals, the better, so please go join the party over there. But before you go, do stop and talk about this podcast. I love to know you're listening and to know what you're thinking. As you read, if questions pop up, please don't hesitate to mention them here and I'll see if we can get you some answers in future podcasts. I'd love to hear what you're thinking about living the spirit of this book in your very own home. Leave a link to your blog post or just speak up in the combox. Also, if you'd like to share photos on Instagram (I always like to do that;-), use the hashtag #littleoratory so we can find them!

Oh, and one more thing: I mention at the beginning of this podcast that Leila is eagerly awaiting the message from Sukie that it is time to head south to greet her new grandchild. As of this writing (late Tuesday night), she's still waiting. I assured them of your prayers. So offer one right now?

June 10, 2014

There are lots of bunnies in my backyard. They're living in the trees by the playhouse. Not at all shy, they often treat us to scampering antics as they run and play with one another. I'm very afraid for my garden. Researching fencing this week....

::listening to

Karoline slurping tea. My hour for awakening keeps creeping earlier as I try to squeeze in alone time before the children join me. I need this chunk of time every morning to set my head on straight.Today, I rolled out of bed at 4:45. She was up at 4:50. Need a new plan.

::clothing myself in

new shoes. I bought a new pair of Jambu shoes for this summer. I wore last year's pair every day from April until Ocotober and they made my feet so happy. It was definitely time for a new pair. Love them!

::talking with my children about these books

Civil war books this summer, as we visit battlefields in Virginia and Pennsylvania. We've added a few new ones to the old Serendipity list. The children all like these Interactive History volumes:

"The real problem of the Christian life comes where people do not usually look for it. It comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day. Standing back from all your natural fussings and frettings; coming in and out of the wind."

C.S. Lewis

::carefully cultivating rhythm

Summer begins for real this week. We've discussed the summer schedule. "School" year 'round will have to happen here. As I gridded in all the comings and goings, I recognized that we won't have a single week where someone isn't away for something. I'm introducing my children to the concept of "Make Up Work." We do lots of things all together and I can't suspend them all this summer, so certain people will have to catch up on what they missed when they return.

::creating by hand

I'm making a pretty gift to tuck into my carry on bag this week. I'm flying to Colorado to visit with Sally Clarkson! I have a little somehting for her. I'll show you next week.

::learning lessons in

blog hosts, podcasting, website transfers. We're trying to move this blog to Squarespace. This blog is old--over 8 years old--and the code is tangled mess. So, the move isn't happening very smoothly at all. Technical learning curves have been frustrating me for some time now. I can see what I want and I know that the technology exists to create it, but I don't have the technical know-how. When I try to learn to learn something new (as I have with podcasting) the rest of my domestic world falls down around me. I blog in the margins. Learning new technical things creeps way into the main column of my life. And then, there is the inevitable stress that comes with the overlap.

You know what that does? It breeds envy. I find myself looking around and seeing all the cool things other people pull off--e-books and digital magazines and social media blitzes and blogs in brand new spaces and beautiful digital art--and I am envious. How do they do that and still be a wife and mom and run a household and remember to make sure that everyone has clean socks?(And cream for the coffee--there's vanilla ice cream; that will work today, no?) How do they do that with a house full of kids? Do their kids not need to eat three times a day? Do they not need someone to hold their hands through every single problem on every single page of the math book? Do they not get sick? Is it only me who finds the day-to-day responsibilities to be more than enough to fill the waking hours, even when one arises at 5 AM? How in the world can all these people learn all these new things? Yeah, I have no idea.

But here's the thing: For some reason, it's really hard for me to do the technical things that take other people much less time. I don't know why, though it has been suggested that it's my aging brain. As I endeavor to stumble along and I learn just a fraction of what I really want to learn, I have a new appreciation for the kids in my life who struggle academically. They know what they want--their hopes and dreams stretch out in front of them. They think big thoughts and they have great ideas. But they get bogged down in the challenge of the learning curve. It's hard to learn something new while the world barrels ahead at full speed. Sometimes, it's really, really hard.

So, here I am full circle. When we decide to educate at home, we ride that learning curve with them. And sometimes, that means we put aside our own learning, because yes, actually, they do need someone to sit with them for every single math problem. Those math problems stand between them and their futures.

And what of my techie aspirations? I don't know. Maybe this is not the time for that. The thing about vocation is we never have to question priorities. I stood before God and everybody and pledged my whole life to a man and to the children that we would welcome. I promised to give it my all. I promised surrender. While I am tempted to think it's about my life, it's not, really. It's about God and it's about living a seamless testimony of obedience to His holy will.

So, I have to trust that He, knowing how earnestly I intend to keep my promise, will grant me the grace to stand at my kitchen sink or sit in front of an algebra book or pull clothes from the dryer and know that this is the moment and the place in which I am to glorify Him. If it is His will, all the rest will happen in His time.

::encouraging learning in

My teenagers and I are going to begin this course this summer. It's the Summer Reading List, if you will. We've already read some of them and a couple we may skip. It's going to take more than the summer, probably, but we will make a dent in this list.

Great American Bestsellers:

The Bay Psalm Book

Common Sense

The Last of the Mohicans

Uncle Tom's Cabin

Ragged Dick

Little Women

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

The Virginian

The House of Mirth

The Jungle

Main Street

The Maltese Falcon

The Good Earth

Gone with the Wind

How to Win Friends and Influence People

The Grapes of Wrath

Native Son

The Catcher in the Rye

To Kill a Mockingbird

Catch-22

The Woman Warrior

John Adams

::begging prayers

Please pray for Elizabeth DeHority who begins a a new chemo regime today, even though she's been given almost no hope of it making any difference at all.

And pray for people struggling with doubt and faith and fear and hopelessness.

::keeping house

We had a baptism party here last weekend, so some deep down cleaning happened last week. It's nice to move about in a place of order. I could get used to this. But I better not, because--ahem--I'm leaving them for three days and I know what can happen to order and cleanliness in three hours if my back is turned. Three days? Le sigh.

::crafting in the kitchen

The unusually late winter and cool spring have meant that there is nothing but strawberries at my Farmer's Market. I'm so eager for tomatoes and okra and fresh garlic. They were actually selling hothouse tomatoes at the Farmer's Market last weekend. Seems like it shouldn't be allowed. We have perfected the fish taco, however, as we wait for market meals. Our Friday summer dinners are crisp and fresh -- but those tacos would benefit from vine ripe tomatoes, too.

::giving thanks

for our sweet beautiful Lucy Shawn, who received the Holy Spirit on the Solemnity of Pentecost. She is pure joy!

::loving the moments

when the boy nearly grown texts me to tell me that one day he will marry a girl just like his mom.I have no idea if that will really happen, but it's nice to think that he thinks it's a good idea.

living the liturgy

It's always a little sad when the Easter season ends. But it's as if God knew we'd have to be weaned from the season of celebration gently, so there are three Sunday feasts in a row: the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity, The Solemnity of Corpus Christi, and The Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul. That's pretty exciting for Ordinary Time.

::planning for the week ahead

I leave early Thursday to go to Colorado Springs, so I'm scrambling these couple days to leave things here in good shape during my absence. I'm really looking forward to spending a couple days with Sally. I intend to soak up wisdom and lean into her mentoring--I'm very grateful for wise women who understand mothering teenagers and young adults and can help me to be an intentional, wholehearted mother for a lifetime.

June 05, 2014

This sweet baby is just so pretty. iPhone shots don’t do her justice. This weekend, she’ll be baptized. Camera is on charge already!

{Happy}

I couldn't decide where to put this--happy or real. This combination monster virus thing is for real. It’s been ten weeks or more since the saga began. And still, at least one visit to the doctor for someone every week. This week, we had two. Nicholas went to see a cornea specialist yesterday. He has about 24 scars across his eyes. Not much we can do but wait. Karoline went today. Nicholas’ treatment has been tapered way back and she doesn’t need to see him for a couple months to evaluate. So, his weekly Mommy Dates are coming to an end. Karoline was similarly released; she'll return next month. As happy as I am to be finished with the additional appointments, I'm going to miss the Mommy Dates. Maybe I will take one child at a time to the store with me henceforth. Karoline in the grocery store is quite the happy adventure. This child cannot sit still. So she dances her way through the store, frequently forgetting where she is. She is just so over-the-top happy! Usually, people smile and and sometimes, they even applaud. Please don't tell me her behavior is inappropriate. She's the eighth child; I'm old. She gets away with way more...;-).

{Funny}

It’s hilarious to watch this household change its orbit every time Lucy walks through the door. (Actually, Lucy doesn't walk through the door, does she? Every time Lucy is carried through the door...)There’s a compelling force that pulls every one of them into her presence. They argue and jostle to be the one to hold her. They compete with one another over who has a better “baby touch.” Paddy frequently cries, “No fair!” because he’s not home as much as the others. It’s a grand baby contest—Foss style. The other day, she came to visit because word on the street was she’d learned to smile since we’d since her 48 hours previous. They all gathered ‘round and made ridiculous faces and more ridiculous noises. I suppose I should have gotten baby smiles with my big camera. Instead, I got them—adoring her!

{Real}

When you work in sports--whether on television or in print--people always talk about how "cool" your job is and how "fun" it would be. It is cool. It is fun. There are lots of super cool and fun opportunities. However, the reality is that it's not all fun and games when one is a sports journalist. This Facebook post literally made me cry. I know how much he admires his dad and I know how much he wants to be home more than his dad was. And. I know how hard it is make it all happen the way we want, while building a career and providing for one's family. Super hard. There's a learning curve and a sacrifice for the dads. And there's a learning curve and a sacrifice for the moms. Really, this post is a reminder that the kids learn and sacrifice, too. Michael is going to Brazil to cover the World Cup. People, that particular sporting event begins June 12 and ends July 13. He gets to come home sooner if the US loses. It's kind of strange to hope the coach is right on this one. But I do.

June 04, 2014

When we seek to live a seamless life of authentic faith, we have to begin at home. Home is important. Sometimes, in the hustle and bustle of the world Out There, we lose sight of that. We shouldn't. What we do at home matters very much to Him. And it matters very much to the people He has entrusted to our care.

In chapter 2 of The Little Oratory: A Beginner’s Guide to Praying in the Home, the authors explore how a life of faith is visibly expressed in a home and how that expression, in turn, nurtures the life of faith. Leila and I spoke about homemaking and hospitality and "holy decorating." We're are of one mind that this isn't about shock and awe religiosity in home decor, but about thoughtful expression of faith throughout a welcoming home. I hope we can join you while you fold a couple loads of laundry or carefully make a bed. Probably, the audio isn't quite loud enough to be a part of dishwashing (but my goal for next week is to make it so;-). Wherever you go on your daily round, think upon these things. I think they'll bless your family.

And another giveaway! This one is for the dads, just in time for Father's Day.

I have another copy of The Little Oratory: A Beginner’s Guide to Praying in the Home to give away this week. I truly believe that this book is an indispensable resource and no home should be without a copy. I also think this book study this summer could transform lives and it's not too late to join us. The book can be read out of order. So you can get your copy and start where we are or read all night and get caught up or begin at the end and meet us in the middle. Whatever suits you. Just get one and read it. And I'd dearly love for you to talk about it with us. Anway, back to the dads in your life, this volume was co-authored by a man who is a husband and a father. He gets it. The book is distinctly systematic, helpful, and even masculine in a way that religious books usually aren’t.

Sophia Institute Press is offering both of these books to one of my readers. I'd love it if you entered to win below. The giveaway will end on Sunday, June 8th and the winner will be announced within this post-- you’ll get your books in time to give them for Father’s Day!

Whew! Got all that? If you're still with me, please chime in below. I'd love to hear what you're thinking about living the spirit of this book in your very own home. Leave a link to your blog post or just speak up in the combox. Also, if you'd like to share photos on Instagram (I always like to do that;-), use the hashtag #littleoratory so we can find them!

June 02, 2014

I can see the promise as I flip the calendar page just a month ahead — white space. There will still be activity; there is no offseason for this rowdy crew of kids. What will happen, though, is that all the activity will not be concentrated into those precious hours after school and before bedtime. The days, no doubt, will be busy, but the evening hours will hold fewer obligations outside our home. This summer, that means the table is going to be set for dinner every night, unless we happen to plan a picnic and take it on the road.

Dinner happens here every night of the year. When the children were smaller and I had more control (any control) over the schedule, dinner was always a sit-down all-together affair at 6:00 p.m. Over the past few years, as they have grown, it’s rare for us all to be home at the dinner hour. To that obstacle there is added the obstacle that came with Dad’s taking a job in the city. His commute and the timing of his workday puts dinner for him around bedtime for everyone else. So, dinner still happens. I plan it, shop for it, cook it, and it is eaten in shifts — little clusters of two or three people at a time, most often at the counter before or between leaving home to go somewhere else.

And I hate it.

Usually, on Sundays, we manage to all sit together. Often my son, his wife and their baby join us. No, that’s not exactly true. Even on Sundays, it’s not all of us, because youth group is on Sundays at dinner time, and that has two teens away from the table and at church. I’ve never quite understood that — the church is competing with the family for Sunday dinner. I am, however, grateful for youth group, so I’ve got my sight set on conquering other evenings for the cause of togetherness.

Recently, I had the pleasure of talking with Leila Lawler, co-author of the new book, The Little Oratory. Among other things, I asked her how to protect the spirit of prayer from the tyranny of workday busy-ness. One of the first suggestions she made was to guard family dinnertime. She insisted it was imperative that families all sit down together. But what about soccer practice, I protested in my mind. What about dance? What about that play rehearsal? How to overcome the reality of the long commute from the city?

I didn’t voice a single objection. Instead, I just listened. And I knew that she was right. Eating together as a family is vital to the life of that family. Indeed, Leila said, “Dinner together is the natural sacrament of the family.” The natural sacrament. The lifeblood. The vehicle for grace. We can’t miss this moment of opportunity.

So, it’s time for a summer resolution. We will have dinner as a family more often than not. It will be the default mode. It might be later than in years past; we have to give Dad time to get home. But it will happen. I’m not going to look ahead to the fall, when all the evening white space gets filled with scribbles of several different colors. I’m just going to take the gift of summer space for what it is. And I’m going to fill it with one thing: real meals around the table all together. The natural sacrament of the family.

May 28, 2014

The Podcast Take 1 had some glitchy audio. I didn't hear it when we recorded because, well, I don't hear at all in my right ear, so with headphones on I sometimes miss things. Big things. Christian tried to fix it. Joy tried to fix it. James (Joy's husband) tried to fix it. I got tired and frustrated and the whole household was talking about Mommy's podcast and The Little Oratory. At one point, Sarah Annie was listening to it with headphones. Such is life around here sometimes.

The next morning Leila was very gracious (really, very, very gracious) and we agreed to re-record it late in the afternoon. In the meantime, a conversation began with my children.

"What exactly is a Little Oratory?"

"Should we do it?"

"Do we already do it?"

"Why is it beneficial?"

And off we went, discussing the first chapter and more. It's a discussion that continues today.

The Second Take is better than the first. But there are still audio glitches. This time, Sarah jumped in and cheerfully helped me to polish it in post-production. Bear with us, the sound does improve right around the 2 minute mark.

So, without further ado, here's our little chat for you. You can download the audio by right clicking and choosing "save link as" or you can right click and open with iTunes:

An aside that is a bit off topic but not really: Towards the end, it is 5:00 in my house. My cellphone was on silent, but I forgot that muting one's phone does not mute the alarms. You will hear "chapel bells" chiming to remind me to pray for my husband on the hour. They go off all day long, each hour designated to pray for something specific: his friends, his health, his job, his role as a father... It's probably very "unprofessional" to have the chimes go off, but, well, it's sort of fitting, too, isn't it? Those are not prayers of the Liturgy of the Hours, but they are most definitely the prayers that go with the Hours to pace the rhythm of my day. So, yes, the chimes are part of the real life "charm" of this particular recording. Unintentional, but there you go...

I'd love for you to listen in and then to talk to us about your own prayer space and how you envision bringing this life of prayer into your home. And, if you don't yet have your very own copy of The Little Oratory, it's not too late! Order away, listen in, and join us anyway. Just to make my point that it's absolutely not too late, I'm offering a fresh, lovely copy of the book to one of you who comment below with your own thoughts about the topics we've discussed in the podcast.

Please let us know what you're thinking about The Little Oratory. Leave a link to your post below. and please, please, let's talk! If you don't have a blog, you can still join in. Share thoughts with us below and soon, there will be a place for photo sharing on Like Mother, Like Daughter. We can do this together this summer. I'm so looking forward to it!

The Giveaway Winner is Marcia, who wrote, "I loved the podcast and that we need to keep brainstorming ideas to cement the beauty of incorporating the family dinner (at least weekly) into our busy lives. I appreciated the encouragement and that there isn't always a 'one size fits all' approach. I soaked up the grace last Sunday after I planned a 'hot lunch" for the family which although was more labour intensive in the morning did lend to a more relaxing afternoon knowing it would only be eggs on toast for tea. I need to definately put in more effort decorating the table and look forward to pulling this off more often! I also want to try Ann Voskamp's beautiful printable grateful jar notetags and perhaps hand them out to everyone around the table and store in a pretty jar as a visual to remind us to keep on counting our blessings! Thanks Elizabeth and Leila and keep the great ideas coming!"

Any moment now, there will be a post here with a podcast with Auntie Leila and the grand kickoff of our Summer in the Little Oratory book study. Any moment. Just as soon as we get past the technical glitch. Stay tuned. I promise to be right back.

I was up way too late last night, fussing at glitches. But His mercies are new every morning and so, today, I'm greeting the dawn determined to bring you something beautiful very soon. And not to throw my computer across the room and turn into something that rhymes with glitch.

Prayers appreciated;-)

{Also, when the glitches start crawling in my ear and taking up residence in my head and I'm really, truly struggling to find a state of rest, I limit my online time to creative blogs. They are usually the breezy breath of fresh air that forces its way into my lungs and propels me into the sewing room where my fingers take over and my head gets a rest. This post moved me to tears. It's a fabric line introduction--likely won't do a thing for you. But for me? Well, I just get it. I really do. }

May 22, 2014

It's Throwback Thursday and Ginny is making pie, so I'm reviving an old post from the old kitchen blog:-). Strawberries aren't yet ready where we usually pick them, so old pictures will do nicely this morning.

I have an awesome pie recipe that works well with blueberries and even peaches (add a little cinnamon). Below, I tossed a few peaches in with the strawberries. I like to play with this recipe. It's forgiving and if it doesn't quite hold together, no one ever seems to mind.

May 21, 2014

“You’re always looking for home,” she said. “For as long as I’ve known you and in your reminiscences of the time before then, you’ve always been seeking home—trying to create it, to nurture it, to settle into it. You are all about safe havens.”

She’s right, I see. I look back over a lifetime of nearly half a century and I’ve always been restless and determined at the same time. Restless, because I hungered for home for a very long time. Determined, because as soon as I was the wife and the mother in the scenario, I endeavored to create the place I’d long been seeking.

There is a little desk in my home, above it are hung icons, upon it are still more icons and a wooden cross given to me by the missionary friend who observed my need for home from her own faraway mission house. There has always been such a place in our home, a corner or a nook, a place set apart from the brisk efficiency of the rest of the house, yet still at the heart of my home. It’s a place where my day begins, in sometimes fleeting silence, with the Lover of my soul. It’s the place where my children know they can find me as morning washes over the house. I never knew it had a name. But it does. It’s the Little Oratory.

Situated there in the front room, between two pretty windows, I pass by it dozens of times every day. The icons and the statues change as the seasons change and as our prayer needs change. I like to leave it mostly uncluttered and so, I store items in the desk and usually keep the dropdown door closed. I’m sure somewhere along the way, I must have read about a place like this, but it seems to have grown there on its own, a gift of grace. It is the actual meeting of my needs, I am sure, that has grown organically over 25 years of mothering—a need for the constant reminder of the Lord and His friends, with me always, cheering on this endeavor, offering real and tangible helps towards holiness; and a need for the prayer that happens in this space throughout the day.

I’ve never had a crisis of faith. Never. All my life, by some great grace, I’ve believed God is real and the He loves me and that He offered His life to save mine. I have experienced crises of religion—moments or seasons of doubt about what is the way that God intends for man to approach Him. And somehow, by the same grace that created an oratory in my home when I didn’t even know such a thing existed, I reached in those times of doubt for the Liturgy of the Hours. And Jesus met me there. Every time.

For years now, my day has been anchored by the Liturgy of the Hours. Morning begins with the Office of Readings and Morning Prayer. I seek Him again at noontime and again at the hour of mercy. Days end in the bedroom of my three littlest girls, praying Night Prayer together. And if the youngest does not fall asleep in prayer, she requests Evening Prayer following Night Prayer. Every night, she wants to fall asleep to the sound of words of scripture rising in the ancient prayer of the Church. It’s just what we do. It’s good. It’s home.

And I can’t really tell you how we got here except to be very sure Jesus led us.

Last winter, sitting in the chair my children call “The Bible Chair,” I read about home. I read about a seamless life, a household infused with authentic Catholic culture. I read a way to infuse a house with the most important things that make it a home—a haven in which all who enter grow in holiness. It was a book of deep thoughts and lofty ideas, it was a book that can and will change the culture, one family at a time. Admittedly, there were times when I put that PDF version aside (a little frustrated with readability of the advanced copy, but mostly feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all). I’d look up at what I already had, think about what we already did, and wonder to myself, “How am I ever going to fully embrace even more?”

Yes. Yes, it is. The whole point of Liturgy is to bring us closer to God and the closer we are to Him, the more we are open to the grace freely given to sustain us. Your oratory won’t look like my oratory. More importantly, your oratory won’t live like my oratory. At its essence, oratory means house of prayer. Every family lives differently in such a home. No doubt, the vocation to create such a place is a high calling and an endeavor for a lifetime.

But you can do it.

The moment when I knew that this book would become dog-eared and tattered, that it would be a gift to every new bride in our family? The moment I read these words:

Freedom is the watchword. In this book, we are trying to present traditions in the hopes that they will attract your imagination and help your prayer life and that of your family. Of necessity, we are trying to be as complete as possible. But if all this information and detail is not helping, don’t feel burdened. The traditions are just ways of doing that have the blessing of being time-tested, but they are not meant to be rules or rigid, constricting thoughts that take all your energy.

If something sparks and helps your creativity, then we’ve succeeded and the idea has succeeded. If not, let it go. Prayer is simply a relationship with God, who knows you and loves you, not a prescribed set of actions or ideas to check off. You can do it however you like.

What’s the Little Oratory? It’s not a decorating style. It’s not liturgically correct cupcakes (though you may decorate and eat cupcakes if you like and someone will, no doubt, love you for it). It’s not a to-do list. It’s both a physical and a spiritual place to meet God and to enter into a deep and personal relationship with Him that will bless you and spill out onto everyone you meet.

Let’s spend the summer in that place. Come every Wednesday. We’ll read a chapter at a time. We’ll share ideas and struggles and triumphs. Leila Lawler, whose thoughtful words have brought us this keeper of a book, will be here, too. You’ll hear her voice as we talk together and share podcasts that further personalize the daily living out of this seamless life of faith. Come back! Bring your friends! Let’s grow together in faith and grace and abundant summer joy!

May 20, 2014

It was one of those days when I’d ventured out into the world and wondered, wished, really, for the seemingly impossible. It was an “in the world, but not of the world” kind of day, only the world was winning. If only the whole world operated on a Catholic mindset. If only everyone understood that the primary purpose of a marriage is to create and nurture a family. If only they understood that this work — this blessed, beautiful work of welcoming and raising precious souls entrusted to the care of parents — is the best, most important thing. If only they’d quit heaping assignment upon assignment and deadline upon deadline.

As I moved from one earthly demand to another, trying (and often failing) not to rush, not to stress, not to bend and break under the pressures of our culture, I wished that all those frayed edges could just be woven together into a simple weekend at home. I wanted to tell all the people, the ones who were pushing and pulling and tearing away at the fiber of peace and order at home, that this isn’t the way we are all created. This isn’t how it was meant to be. We are Sabbath people. We need rest. Further, we need time together as a family to learn all those important things that people in families teach one another. Things like prudence and temperance and justice and fortitude. It is my considered opinion that the world is sorely in need of more families committed to virtue, so that as we move in the world, the world is a little more sane.

I rushed through that day, from doctor to grocery to dance school to a hurried piling in the car of one young soccer player and a drive at sunset to goalie training. Just as we got there, the heavens opened up and lightning crackled overhead. “Go!” said his coach. “Go find shelter and sit out the storm for at least a half hour.” Nick and I looked at each other and grinned. Just seven minutes away was a shelter like no other in its warmth and light. As the lightning continued to crackle while we drove, Nick grinned victorious — he knew that the 30 minute clock reset with every latest lightning flash. Now we can stay until 7:37. Now 7:40. Now 7:44. If we get to 8:00, maybe they’ll just cancel the whole training.

We stepped into the pounding rain and ran up all 35 steps, and there, there in the warm, dry glow of evening at home, was Lucy. Nick didn’t even ask, but scooped her up into his damp arms and settled happily against the quilt-strewn couch. For the next hour and a half (practice was canceled after all), we were privileged to enter into the haven that is a newborn baby.

Lucy is my first granddaughter. I suppose I could gush at great length about how amazing she is and how wondrous the last week has been since she came into our world, but I think I’ll just mention instead, that a “babymoon” is a very good thing.

A babymoon is that time when a new mother and father wholeheartedly devote themselves to learning all about their baby and, even more, to dancing together as a family. It’s a sleep-deprived, hazy existence that centers around the very basics of a child’s eating and sleeping. It’s ridiculously simple and at the same time all-encompassing and uniquely demanding. It’s one of the few times in the life of a family that all the world stands a bit apart and affirms the need a family has for quiet and rest and understanding and unwavering support. A miracle happens in a home where there is a babymoon, and those of us who can stop, even for a few moments, and bask in the glow of the good are blessed beyond compare to even stand on the periphery.

Like every other family, this little family will one day juggle schedules and carpools and missing ballet slippers. They will worry about budget and books. They will seek that elusive “balance” between work and leisure. For now, though, they are granted the great gift of seeing clearly that the only important thing is right before them, that a baby sees most clearly the eyes of the person who loves her when she’s held at the lover’s heart. Close. There is no doubt that something happens to the one who beholds a child held there. He becomes a better version of himself.

The storm outside clears, and we must leave, going down all those steps and into the night, going out into traffic and faulty defoggers and cell phones that don’t stop ringing. The scent of the newborn still on our hands, we reach up and rub weary eyes. Inhale. We take her with us — the very essence of the best of us.

Perhaps a babymoon shouldn’t be reserved only for families with newborns. Perhaps, like second honeymoons, it would benefit families to revisit the babymoon on occasion. The art of raising holy children — the work of becoming our Creator’s best vision of ourselves — takes time and careful attention. It cannot happen in the constant rush to get somewhere else with maximum efficiency. It cannot happen when a smartphone screen is the first impulse in the morning and the last touch of the evening. Maybe it’s time to come in out of the storm and gather into our arms a precious soul — no matter how old — who longs to be held just for a while at only a heart’s distance.

May 15, 2014

Firstly, let me assure my needle & thREAD friends that I haven't abandoned sewing and reading posts altogether. There are just so many ways to say, "I'm taking tucks and adding snaps to costumes of dancers you don't know. I can't show you pictures of them wearing the costumes because they're not my children and I can't really photograph them put them up on the web."

So, when I sew, I'll let you know;-). Look for needle & thREAD to return to this space a week from Saturday.

Now, on to my first ever edition of {pretty, happy, funny, real}.

{pretty}

Sarah has a lovely knack for remaining oblivious to the mess she makes around her while still taking care to make beautiful her immediate space, if only for her own enjoyment. She sat down to do her "work" the other day and promptly got up again. Stepping around strewn papers and markers on the floor, she made her way to the vast jar collection that doubles as our drinking glass stash. She went out to the yard (which is a benevolent benefactor bearing all sorts of perfectly beautiful yellow weeds) and she gathered herself a bouquet. She brought it in, placed it on her table, and went on with her work.

I want to be like her.

I want to value the mess of a work in progress and not make excuses for the fact that --to someone who doesn't know the backstory--it just looks like an untidy testimony to failed housekeeping. Sometimes, in a house with lots of people coming and going and doing important things, the things visible look like a mess. It's the invisible things that are blooming beautifully. A fistful of flowering yellow weeds pulled from the back lawn aren't just pretty. They're beautiful--in the most genuine way I know.

{happy}

I'm happy to tell you that I have grand plans to host a Summer Book Club right here. With you! I've spoken with Auntie Leila and we're brimming with ideas for ways to make The Little Oratory come alive in your homes this summer. We're planning a weekly study, complete with link-ups to your blogs. We'll have podcasts every week for you with Auntie Leila-- and then, I'm going to also share some thoughts via podcasts with other women who bring this haven of holiness into their homes. We'll have giveaways and challenges and plenty of practical encouragement for you.

Next Wednesday, I'll be back with a proper introduction and some thoughts about mentoring and mothering and making home a place of soft landing and spiritual fortification. Until then, just know I'm giddy-happy to be planning this summer adventure. Oh, and buy the book (or here). You'll want to read along with us;-).

{funny}

This week's funny went down like this:

Mama (or is it Nona? I don't know--conversation spans generations), holding Lucy: I think Lucy is the prettiest current girl baby in the whole world.

Karoline: Yeah... Wait, WHAT? The prettiest?

Mama: The prettiest current. I was very careful not to say ever. Did you notice that?

Karoline (indignant): I'm not third. Lucy, what do you think? Are you the fairest of them all?

Karoline just happens to be snapping pictures with my iPhone as she asks. And Lucy says:

#1

{real}

This is really what my living room has looked like this week, only more--much more. As we've sorted and sprayed and fluffed and repaired costumes just unpacked on Tuesday (took awhile to get my legs under me after the weekend that was) to get them ready to go tomorrow, I've just sort of given up and let the girls take over the front room. It's fine. Next week, perhaps life will return to normal. Whatever that is. It's been long enough away from normal and enough has changed forever that perhaps next week begins the new normal.

Then again, the washing machine keeps blinking F02 and refusing to do what I tell it. Life can never be normal in a household of 9 when the washer isn't working properly.

May 13, 2014

When we were little, my sister and I played "House" all the time. We'd have our dolls and put our imaginations to setting the scene. She'd page through the Ethan Allen catalog and always pick the best rooms for herself. She'd assign me the other rooms (and really, there were no bad rooms). Let's pause here: what does it mean that we couldn't play house without the imaginary interior design element? We'd pick our husbands. She always got Donny Osmond and I got Jay. And then we'd scoop up the dolls. I always got more. I was willing to give on the house and the husband but I didn't relent on getting the most babies.

When my little girls play House, they don't call it "House;" they call it "Babies." I think I like that better. But whether you call it House or you call it Babies, I have noticed that rarely do little girls pretend to be the mother of teenagers. Nor do they pretend to be grandmothers. I don't think I spent much time imagining what this stage of life would look like. Never, in my wildest imagining could I imagine what the last week looked like.

On Wednesday, Nicholas played a State Cup game about an hour away. It was a big game against a big team. Patrick and some friends came up from Charlottesville to cheer him on. Because that's what we do in this family; we show up. So, Nick was no doubt the only U-13 player ever to be warmed up by two members of the U-17 National Team, a 2nd team college All American, and the High School Player of the Year. Best of all was a little huddle in the goal before the second half--Patrick and Stephen offering last minute advice. Nick was just coming back from being sick. He didn't play the first half and his team was down 3-1. They came back to win 4-3. Very big deal.

On Thursday, we went back to the eye doctor. I'm grateful that our twice a week appointments at the opthamologist will be scaled back to once a week.

Back at the dance studio and home in my dining room, I sewed and sewed and sewed. Costumes that were too big. Costumes that were too small. I found my happy place in a dressing room at the studio, stitching a little love into a lot of lace and tulle.

And I stole some time to go over and just hold Lucy. She changes every day and it's hard to stay away. I'd really like the world to stop so I could just sit and inhale her. But I remind myself that she's got a mama for sitting and inhaling and I try to avoid being overbearing. I knew we'd be gone for the weekend, so I hopped over there with the little girls, brought dinner, tidied up, folded sweet tiny pink clothes and got to have a little snuggle.

On Friday, the plan was for Mike to take the boys to Delaware for soccer and me to take the girls to Baltimore for a weekend dance competition. Just as I crossed the threshold of the hotel, Bobby called. When Bobby was 16, he was drafted by Major League Soccer to play in DC. He was living far from home, pretty much on his own, and MLS had never drafted a kid in high school before. Everyone was sort of making it up as they went. Bobby came and schooled with us--actually, Bobby became one of us. So, now, 14 years later, when his wife was pregnant, he reminded me that I missed his wedding because I was on bedrest and he pretty much begged me to be there for the birth of his son. He didn't have to beg. I wanted to be there. But I was really worried about the details. Sloane was due smack between two out-of-town dance competitions and State Cup.

Where would I be when he called? How would I get there in time? Could I go to him and not let anyone down at home?

So, I'm walking through the hotel lobby and my phone rings. I see it's Bobby and ever calm and gracious, the first thing I say upon answering is, "No way. Really? Now?"

Really. Now. She's in active labor 4 hours north in New Jersey and it's just rush hour in Baltimore.

I checked my girls into the hotel and I called 3 dance moms.

You know all the things you think you know about dance moms? Let me share something different.

Dance moms are good friends who know the minute you send the text "Sloane is in labor" that you are leaving and you are entrusting your children to them for an undetermined amount of time. And they are fine with that.

Dance moms will settle them into their room, buy them dinner, and go to the drug store to replace the eye medicine tucked safely in your purse on the way to New Jersey.

Dance moms will call their parents (who happen to live in New Jersey) and get you up-to-date traffic and construction information. They will coach your drive, knowing full well that you hate to drive and New Jersey terrifies you.

Dance moms will make sure the girls get up and out on time, feed them breakfast, text you updates, and all around ensure that you know your girls are in good hands.

Mary Beth is an honorary Dance Mom.

I arrived in New Jersey without getting lost even a little bit. I managed to talk my way into Sloane's room. And I knelt down in front of her and talked her through the last half hour. I was there to witness the most amazing thing on the earth.

Shower upon shower upon shower of pure grace.

I stayed with them and enjoyed the glow of those precious hours right after the hard work is done.

Then, I drove back to competition. I got there in time to see Karoline dance all her group dances.

I got there in time to catch Katie and pull her on to my lap and let her sob her heart out after she improvised her whole solo because she was so sick she couldn't remember her choreography.

I got there in time to sleep a little before Mother's Day.

And on Mother's Day morning, I walked with my friend Nicole to get a quick breakfast for the girls (no breakfast in bed;-), and then I settled in around 7:15 AM for this:

May 05, 2014

Mike and the boys really got after it yesterday in the yard. I need to follow up all their hard work with a trip to the herb store. It's time to get some things growing.

::listening to

birds chirping outside my front door. My friend Courtney noted yesterday that birds know no other way to greet the day except in song. We would do well to take our cues from the birds.

::clothing myself in

Pajamas and Patrick's letterman blanket. It's itchy but I'm too cozy to move to a more allergy-friendly fleece. Besides, I miss him.

::talking with my children about these books

We are still reading Civil War books. Gripping illness and babies being born have delayed our planned field trips.

::thinking and thinking

About being alone. There are very few women who have nine kids. There are even fewer who have nine kids and the youngest is five and they are also grandmothers.

There is a palpable shift, even in online communities, towards encouraging women to seize all the opportunities that await them outside the confines of home and family. That's someone else's life. I'm still finding that even adequately meeting the needs of my people and their varied commitments and relationships is more than I can do well most days.That other stuff? Out there? I can't even begin to go there. At least I can't and still do this even close to well.

Way back in the beginning of this life together, my husband and I heard a calling to cultivate the lives entrusted to us and the space He so graciously granted to the glory of God. More than 25 years later, that calling remains the same--only it's way more complicated and demanding.

Interestingly, the support for wholehearted mothering and homemaking seems to have diminished just as my family has grown and the challenges multiplied. It's curious to me that the same faith community that so vigorously promotes openness to life expresses a vague condescension towards those women who must dedicate themselves wholeheartedly to the care of those lives in order to faithfully fullfill the vocation to motherhood. Not sure what's up with that, but I am assured that God is faithful, that He called us, and that He walks with us still on this journey.

::pondering prayerfully

“During the day we practice what we have resolved to do in the morning. We also have to bestir ourselves to expressions of love, gratitude and humility toward God, ask Him for as many graces as (we) may need. Let us always remember that God is our Father, and we are His children.” ~St. John Bosco

::carefully cultivating rhythm

As we head into soccer tournament and dance competition season, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep the extra-curriculars from overtaking the academic necessities. We lost so many days (and our spring break) to illness. It is imperative to stay disciplined in these final spring days.

::creating by hand

I have been up to my eyeballs in all sorts of dance costume alterations. I love to create in a dressing room with a grateful girl. I really do enjoy getting to know these girls (and a handful of boys) and being a part of the hard work that goes into this art. These are the people who fill my daughters' days; I am privileged to know them well.

I'm eager to make a quilt soon, though.

::learning lessons in

What matters most. I loved the Restore workshop. It was by far my favorite thing to have ever done online. Someone recently noted the quiet here on my blog and asked if Restore had burned me out. (Ultimate irony, right? Being burned out by the burnout workshop?) The reality is that Restore was written in February. I wrote 90% of it before opening registration and I blogged here and actually was brimming over with creative ideas. So, no, the workshop didn't burn me out, nor did it take me away from here.

What took me away was living the spirit of this blog. We faced some sad burials. My kids were sick. Even my kids who are bigger than me needed me. I traveled back and forth to Charlottesville. I came home to the same serious infection here. What came with it was mountains of laundry every day for weeks on end (every fiber they touched had to be washed every single time), children who needed continuous care, a total disruption of the regular rhythms of our home.

And then I also got to spend sweet, thoughtful, irreplaceable hours walking and talking with Kristin in the weeks before Lucy arrived.

I wondered often how other people manage such things--people who have many commitments outside their homes. I wondered often, but I didn't often wonder long; I was too focused on doing the work of being mom and making home to have much time to ponder the philosophy of it or to write about it.

We haven't finished our math for the year. Why is it always math that's the issue? We will do math all summer long...

Yay.

::clicking around

Hah! Not much of that happening.

::begging prayers

For people who are lonely and feel forgotten.

For people anxious over health tests.

For Elizabeth DeHority and Lisa Tobin.

For new mamas and the babies they love--and for mamas who will meet their babies any moment.

::keeping house

I'm going to be doing some furniture rearranging this week. My sister is sending some treasures my way. My big boys have some apartments to furnish. It could look like a warehouse around here for a few weeks as we sort things out. In the end, I like what's going to happen.

::crafting in the kitchen

We had strawberries and asparagus yesterday. I dearly love spring. And summer? I'm so ready to cook from the Farmer's Market. Bring it.

.

::loving the moments

Karoline and Nicholas had to wait a week after Lucy Shawn was born before they could finally hold her. For both of them, the wait was by far the worst part of being sick. They are both being aggressively treated by an eye specialist and we hope to minimize the longterm damage, but the active infection is finally gone from my house. (Nine, ten weeks later? I've lost count)

They were overcome with sheer joy when the moment finally came for them to hold the sweetest baby on the planet. I'm not entirely sure that Nick has actually seen her still. But the blurry baby sure felt good in his arms. There really are no words and even the pictures can't quite capture the elation.

::giving thanks

for mostly healthy kids.

living the liturgy

It's still Easter! Every evening, during Night Prayer, Sarah marvels that it's still Easter. This is seriously the longest day ever, Mommy.

::planning for the week ahead

Trips to visit the opthamologist.

Some loving on Lucy.

Nick has a State Cup game midweek deep into the next county. We will sit in traffic for a couple hours before arriving at the game site. Those kinds of games don't usually end well. The home team has a ginormous advantage and this home team is formidable anyway. Your prayers for an exception to the rule would be awesome. This kid has had a ridiculously hard year and I'd dearly love for the tide to turn. He's healthy enough to play and he's eager. I'm kind of holding my breath.

Christian's birthday is Tuesday. He'll take an exam to celebrate.

Christian returns home Wednesday. Patrick will spend the summer in Charlottesville, regaining strength and endurace and, no doubt, preparing to come back to the pitch better than ever!

The weekend holds lots of soccer and dance. Karoline has missed three weeks of dance. When you're seven and not a little ADHD, three weeks is an eternity. She got back in the studio last night and did some good work. She's going to have to be very focused in order to remember all she's forgotten before she dances this weekend. And it would be really great if her peripheral vision were just a wee bit better.

The week holds lots of organizing and orchestrating in order to arrive at the weekend both efficiently and peacefully.

My mother is arriving towards the end of the week. She has a new great-grandchild to get to know.

I'm more than a little overwhelmed as I grid in everyone's everything. There will be lots of prayer. And maybe some coffee.

April 29, 2014

Last fall, in a cold shadow, we planted defiance. I was so angry at death. So angry again at cancer. So tired of funerals. I gathered my children in our front garden bed and I made a promise that even I wasn't sure was a good idea.

Here's what we're going to do. We're going to take all these tulip bulbs--90 for the ninety years that Granddad lived--and we're going to bury them in the cold ground. In the spring, around Easter, they will bloom. In the spring, we are going to feel so much better than we do now and those new tulips will make us smile.

This year, we went all in. They were planted too shallowly, planted by a not-quite-five-year-old. No doubt, some were planted upside down. I didn't go back and replant them. I didn't overturn the imperfect planting technique, didn't give in to my familiar need to control all things. I just let them be. It was a very harsh winter. Very cold and very snowy well into late March. Every once in awhile I would rehearse what I was going to say to my children when they asked why "Granddad's tulips" didn't bloom.

The shoots first started poking above the ground the week that Shawn died. That was, incidentally, the week adenovirus moved into my house for an extended stay. I texted my friend Nicole and asked what would come of them if we had snow again (we did). Surely, we hadn't buried deeply enough. Hadn't done it right. Surely, we were going to be denied the bright promise of hope and healing. She said they'd be fine. I doubted. She owns a landscaping company. I own fear.

Spring came late.

All the flowers, all the flowering trees, the bluebells at Bull Run. They all came late.

April 25, 2014

April 24, 2014

I’ve written countless times about my deep love for John Paul II. He was the wise father of my childhood, the only pope I really remembered being pope. Then, he was the guiding presence of my newlywed years, my pregnant years, nearly all my childbearing years. I was 39 the year he died, right on the brink of turning 40 and embracing all the changes that come with midlife. It was as if he’d taken me that far, and then there was a changing of the guard. I had walked the path of early adulthood, knowing that the Holy Father had a vision for what I could be. I heard his voice throughout my growing years, and I knew his expectations of me as a young woman.

The reality is that I had two more babies in my 40s, so the demarcation between childbearing and midlife wasn’t sharp and crisp. And the reality is that, contrary to what many people seem to think, John Paul II wasn’t just a pope for women who were mothers with children at home. He saw the grace and the beauty and the genuine, sweeping gift to humanity that motherhood was, but that was not the full extent of his appreciation for the feminine genius. Please read the rest here.

April 23, 2014

There are very few "Easter" pictures of my children on my camera. Since the week of Ash Wednesday, we having been waging war with adenovirus. And I'm telling you with all sincerity, it's one formidable foe. I have never encountered a childhood illness that lingers so long with such fierce intensity. There have been all the usual things: croup, bronchitis, vomiting, body aches, fever. And then, we have been visited by the more extreme manifestations, particularly swollen, oozy, eyes that drip blood for weeks on end. Every morning, I keep hoping that everyone will awaken and no one will require assistance just getting his or her eyes to open.

We had one bluebell day all together. And we had one bluebell day where several children stayed home and I went with the others to meet some ladies from the Restore Workshop. And that is all. Usually, we take a week and go every day. This year, we'd planned to camp there overnight. There are amazing flowers blooming on perfectly gorgeous spring days! And my children are so light sensitive that hardly anyone wants to be there. So we stay home.

So, in these days, I am particularly grateful for the tree blooming outside my front window. I'm inhaling its loveliness. (Well, actually, I hold my breath and just look at it because Bradford pear blooms are pretty stinky.) I am beyond grateful (what is the word for that?), that 90 tulip bulbs planted when Granddad died are showing up in all kinds of glory this week. Could it be that they heard that a baby is on her way and they've all come out to greet her?

And that baby... we are eagerly awaiting her arrival. Every day, Kristin comes to pass the time here. A tiny bit of sewing, some time in the garden, a daily walk where we just talk and talk. These are the tender mericies, the glimpses of Easter.

The Church has sung its Alleluia. I sort of feel like I missed it. Then I remember: Easter is a season.

April 19, 2014

Before the feast of Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had cometo pass from this world to the Father.He loved his own in the world and he loved them to the end.The devil had already induced Judas, son of Simon the Iscariot, to hand him over.So, during supper, fully aware that the Father had put everything into his power and that he had come from God and was returning to God, he rose from supper and took off his outer garments.He took a towel and tied it around his waist.Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and dry them with the towel around his waist.He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Master, are you going to wash my feet?”Jesus answered and said to him,“What I am doing, you do not understand now,but you will understand later.”Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.”Jesus answered him, “Unless I wash you, you will have no inheritance with me.”Simon Peter said to him, “Master, then not only my feet, but my hands and head as well.”Jesus said to him, “Whoever has bathed has no need except to have his feet washed,for he is clean all over; so you are clean, but not all.”For he knew who would betray him;for this reason, he said, “Not all of you are clean.”

So when he had washed their feet and put his garments back on and reclined at table again, he said to them, “Do you realize what I have done for you?You call me ‘teacher’ and ‘master,’ and rightly so, for indeed I am.If I, therefore, the master and teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another’s feet.I have given you a model to follow, so that as I have done for you, you should also do.”

.

So they took Jesus, and, carrying the cross himself, he went out to what is called the Place of the Skull, in Hebrew, Golgotha.There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus in the middle.Pilate also had an inscription written and put on the cross.It read,“Jesus the Nazorean, the King of the Jews.”Now many of the Jews read this inscription, because the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city; and it was written in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek.So the chief priests of the Jews said to Pilate, “Do not write ‘The King of the Jews,’but that he said, ‘I am the King of the Jews’.”Pilate answered,“What I have written, I have written.”

When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his clothes and divided them into four shares, a share for each soldier.They also took his tunic, but the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from the top down.So they said to one another, “Let’s not tear it, but cast lots for it to see whose it will be, “ in order that the passage of Scripture might be fulfilled that says:They divided my garments among them,and for my vesture they cast lots.This is what the soldiers did.Standing by the cross of Jesus were his motherand his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas,and Mary of Magdala.When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he lovedhe said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son.”Then he said to the disciple,“Behold, your mother.”And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.

.

After this, aware that everything was now finished, in order that the Scripture might be fulfilled, Jesus said, “I thirst.”There was a vessel filled with common wine.So they put a sponge soaked in wine on a sprig of hyssop and put it up to his mouth.When Jesus had taken the wine, he said,“It is finished.”And bowing his head, he handed over the spirit.

Now since it was preparation day,in order that the bodies might not remain on the cross on the sabbath,for the sabbath day of that week was a solemn one, the Jews asked Pilate that their legs be broken and that they be taken down.So the soldiers came and broke the legs of the first and then of the other one who was crucified with Jesus.But when they came to Jesus and saw that he was already dead, they did not break his legs, but one soldier thrust his lance into his side, and immediately blood and water flowed out.An eyewitness has testified, and his testimony is true; he knows that he is speaking the truth, so that you also may come to believe.For this happened so that the Scripture passage might be fulfilled:Not a bone of it will be broken.And again another passage says:They will look upon him whom they have pierced.

After this, Joseph of Arimathea, secretly a disciple of Jesus for fear of the Jews, asked Pilate if he could remove the body of Jesus.And Pilate permitted it.So he came and took his body.Nicodemus, the one who had first come to him at night, also came bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes weighing about one hundred pounds.They took the body of Jesus and bound it with burial cloths along with the spices, according to the Jewish burial custom.Now in the place where he had been crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb, in which no one had yet been buried.So they laid Jesus there because of the Jewish preparation day; for the tomb was close by.

April 17, 2014

Hey, come close! Let's hatch a secret plan;-). My sweet friend, Colleen Mitchell celebrated a birthday yesterday. It was kind of a lonely affair down on the mission field in Costa Rica. Today, she and her men are off to the jungle for three days, bringing gospel joy to the indigenous folks who are their neighbors. They will be far from internet access. While they are out, might we send some birthday love her way? An anonymous donor has promised to match donations made to The St. Bryce Foundation, up to $500. Wouldn't it be *grand* for Colleen to see $1K in the St. Bryce account in honor of her birthday when she returns to the mission house for Easter? As we set to walk the days of the Triduum together in the comfort of our parishes, can we offer alms to this mission and to a family we dearly love? Nothing is too small a donation. There's an easy peasy button at the St. Bryce site. (You can even wish Colleen a happy birthday in the notes section). Please party plan with me! And share, share, share this post. She's in the jungle--she won't see it until we've all shown up to share the love.

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Why?

...that their hearts may be encouraged as they are knit together in love, to have all the riches of assured understanding and the knowledge of God's mystery, of Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures or wisdom and knowledge. ~Col 2:2

FULL DISCLOSURE

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